


hell take us, heaven can wait

by Mothervvoid



Series: We Belong to a Wicked Hallelujah [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Enemy to Reluctant Ally, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hydaelyn ex Machina, Multiple Warriors of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), No Beta We Die Like Ascians, POV Multiple, POV Second Person, Slow Burn, Speculation, Will Add as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27463726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothervvoid/pseuds/Mothervvoid
Summary: [ Is that mecrouched at the feetof a god?Of course it’s not.But say it was—untouched, He turnsaway from me. ]— Leila Chatti---After the events of 5.3, one of the Warriors of Light returns to Syrcus Tower armed with nothing more than a hair-brained scheme and white auracite.
Relationships: Elidibus/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Series: We Belong to a Wicked Hallelujah [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2006605
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. scions and sinners

**Author's Note:**

> yeah wow what have i done
> 
> so as you can probably tell, Elidibus brainwormed me. i have decided against my better judgement to free him from the crystal tower and allow him to wreak havoc once more. if this fic is confusing im sorry lmao. ALSO uhh theres some stuff thats referenced having already happened in this chapter and its bc im assuming this is happening past 5.5/6.0 so. yeah.
> 
> main wol is my ff main, Tyler. she's a miqo and she's also stupid and fell in love with elidibus everyone point and laugh at her.
> 
> patch notes: 11/30/2020 - chapter 1 overhaul. i cant write for urianger.

It all started when you returned from The First. With the future once again unknown to you all, there was a sense of peace, a fragile peace, but peace nonetheless. For a spell.

But all good things must end.

For there is always an ascian to replace one that fell, it seemed. You aren’t sure how much more of this your heart can take.

Fandaniel is so much worse. While his comrades had been people, pitiable, even sympathetic in their softer moments; he was not. He did not even value his past, or his allies. He treated things like a cosmic play, and he, the main character.

And he did not shy away from tossing aside what no longer entertained or served him. No one expected what he did to Zenos, not even the prince himself. 

You almost felt bad for him.

And perhaps, in your fear— in your weakness, your mind turns to a theory. To a person. Someone who might still be alive.

Someone trapped inside Syrcus Tower.

Your thoughts turn to Elidibus, and how he might be of service.

***

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe you've taken things too far. Maybe you didn't think this all the way through, like so many other half-baked and crazed ideas that sprang from your mind before this one. Unfortunately, this time, you had the nerve to follow through.

_Warrior of Light. Beloved daughter._

The body before you twitches, its’ physical features already morphing to better suit its’ inhabitant. Features melting, hair lightening. 

_Strike now. The Emissary of Darkness is weakened._

The body jerks, looking up at you with purple irises. Sclera red, from stress or fear or some other haunted emotion. Hand to the ground, knee on the ground. Tries to get its feet under it. Tries to stand.

_Now. Bring down the Blade of Light upon the Barrier of Darkness, my child._

But you can’t, you can’t do it. You need him. You brought him back in this insane, hair-brained scheme because it was the only way, your vision had tunneled as you developed your plans and this could be the only way to defeat Fandanial; and you would be damned if you didn’t see your horrid plan through—

But your arms draw back, beyond your control. 

Hydaelyn’s beloved daughter brings down a Blade of Light upon Zodiark’s most beloved son.

But something odd happens. His essence does not dissipate as Nabriales did. His physical and spiritual form does not rend and tear as Emet-Selch’s did. Arguably, it does something worse.

The body jerks back with a horrific scream, onto its back, thrashing violently. Screams like it’s dying, like bloody-murder. Purple irises disappear completely, mouth wide open in a scream that abruptly cuts short and dissolves into gurgles as violet like crushed velvet leaks out of its mouth. Out of its nose. Ears. 

Then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped. The halls of Syrcus Tower are quiet once more.

_A gift. A curse. I give him to thee, my child._

***

Your brother is mad. Like, really mad. So mad he won’t speak to you. 

They’re going to kick you out of the Scions, or put you in a prison or execute you or—

“Tyler. Can we speak with you in the Solar?” It’s Lena, standing right outside of the aforementioned office. You’d watched everyone walk inside an hour earlier.

So, they’ve decided your fate.

You rise, numb, and follow her into the spacious office. It was crowded with people; Scions, your Free Company. Fellow Warriors of Light.

Gods, you’re a moron. You’ve been invited to your own ending.

Lena leans against the desk, Minfilia’s old desk, next to your brother and other FC-mates. She pins you with a stare. Everyone does.

You fold your hands behind your back and resist the urge to turn your face to the ground. You’re not a child. Despite yourself, you feel your ears folding back on your head like a kitten who's been caught by her parents. In a way, you have.

“I know what I did was wrong,” You begin, slowly; “And if you want me to fix it—“

“Fix it? Gods Tyler there’s a fucking Ascian in our basement!” Your brother interrupts, “What were you _thinking—_ “

“About Fandaniel!” You protest, “You saw what he did to Zenos when he didn’t need him anymore! And he hadn’t appeared before now! What if the Unsundered—“

“So you thought that he was the best option available?” 

At this, you lower your head, “It took all of us to fight Zenos the first time, and all of us to fight Emet-Selch. Can you imagine how powerful Fandaniel must be?” 

“Can you imagine how powerful _Elidibus_ is? That it took all of us to defeat him as well?” Your brother snarls. You flinch. 

“If I may,” Y’shtola interjects, “While I am by no means _justifying_ what Miss Tyler did, I personally examined Elidibus when she dragged him in. What I beheld was nothing more than a normal Hyur— normal being relative here— and it is as if his aether has been halved.”

“A most curious condition indeed,” Urianger supplants; “If Miss Tyler had not eventually divulged the identity of yonder individual, I scarce believe that anyone would believeth that this was once Elidibus.”

“Is that so?” Lena muses, attempting to bring the conversation back under her control. Anything to keep you and your brother from fighting again, you surmise. “Tyler, your intentions were in the right place, but—”

Here comes your sentence. You prepare for the worst.

“You’re on probation. This is your first real fuck-up, so I’m going to be nice,” She explains, “However, if push comes to shove, you’re going to be the one to put an end our friend in the basement, just like you said you would. Okay?” 

The ‘okay?’ was clipped, as if she were speaking to a scolded child. You feel like a child. 

“Yes. Thank you,” You look back up at Lena, still lent up against the desk. She looks at you with pity.

“Alright. Now,” She looks around the room, “Show’s over, everyone. I’ve got work to do.”

Everyone but you and your fellow Warriors of Light file out. You watch them leave, standing still as a statue.

You wish you were invisible. 

“You too Tyler,” Lena says.

“But I-”

“I know. But you’re on probation,” She explains, “No more active duty until further notice, okay?”

You don’t bother to answer her that time. You turn and walk out of the Solar, feeling just as numb as you felt walking in. 

Sure, you got to stay in the Scions, maybe you’ll even stay a member of your Free Company, but no active duty ‘until further notice’? You’re fired in all but name. Exiled. 

Gods you’re a moron.

***

There are lights around the room, dim ones, and none close enough for you to reach. You’ve tried. The neurolink on your ankle made sure of that. 

There was nothing to anchor it in place, you had quite the range of motion for a prisoner, but only so far. You could go so far, and whatever device it was connected to would stop you in your tracks.

You find yourself cursing Emet-Selch’s name, if only for a small, rage-filled moment.

So instead, you pace. Arms behind your back, spine straight, five feet to the right. Five feet to the left. Five feet to the right. 

Time is a thing that does not exist in this room. You resort to counting things, the stones on the floor, the cracks in the wall. The number of steps you can take. The number of stitches in the embroidery on your blanket. There is nothing to do but wait.

Wait and wait until one of them came in, one of your captors that was not her, and be asked a series of questions. When they inevitably became angry with the answer, they would leave. Some of them got physical.

It gave you something to think about. Between that, your memories and your situation, you much preferred interrogation. It was better than the alternative, where you might sit with your thoughts until you felt the urge to be sick. All of this, for nothing.

And all of those interrogations for nothing. You aren’t even yourself anymore. Your God is missing. Your _soul_ is missing.

You are infinitely weaker, reduced in all sense of the word. Smaller in being. Your once-monstrous soul now fits snuggly in this imperfect vessel.

You feel trapped. But it is not this room that traps you, nor the Scions who put you here. No, it is your body. Existence in this form was suffocating, but like your sundered brothers and sister before you, you did not want to die.

You wanted to keep struggling, to fix your mistakes. That’s what the Convocation fought for, struggled for; for years, for eons. You understand Nabriales’ terrified screams and Igeyrohm’s wails; Lahabrea’s maddened ploys, even Emet-Selch’s reluctant acceptance, to a certain degree. Towards the end, they wanted it to mean something, it had to mean something. All of this suffering, it has to mean something, right? An ilm’s worth of progress is still progress.

And in this darkened prison, your plans have all come to naught. Ilms, no; malms of progress lost.

The door at the top of the stairs opens, light floods your prison. The door quickly shuts, and whomever entered the basement sits down on the stairway.

A beat passes. “They say you’re being difficult,”

It was _her_. “I have been nothing but honest,” you answer, cooly.

Another beat. She fidgets with her hands. 

“But not entirely. You leave things out.”

“This I do not deny,” You concede, acknowledging your pettiness, and nothing more.

More silence. It was as if you were back in The Pendants. Back then, so much had passed between the two of you, unspoken. 

None of it matters now. At the end of the day, you are still fated to stand against each other, it seems.

“... he’s going to kill a lot of people,” She says.

“We have orchestrated the deaths of trillions,” You muse, as if you were reciting carefully memorized notes. The admission, however, does not fill you with pride. It never really has, you’d always regarded it with neutrality, with necessity, but especially not now. Not here.

Her judgement means something to you now. _Infuriating._

“Well now you might have the chance to _save_ trillions,” She stands up, makes for the door. You almost call out for her to stay, but you hold back. To want is to have a weakness. "Please don't make me regret this."

The door shuts with a slam. You are once again alone, stony-faced, in the dark.


	2. stay this descent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short update *dabs* not really too important of a chapter but its basically like laying tracks for a train rn

Lena graciously allows you to sit in on some meetings. She doesn’t have to, you’re no longer a part of the team, not until she deems you worthy once more. If she ever does. If you can ever rub off the stain that reviving one of your worst enemies has marked you with.

As though by magic, the topic of conversation switches to the prisoner in the basement. To Elidibus. You listen, intently.

“We’re hitting a wall,” Your friend, a white mage, explains; “He’ll talk, but you can tell he’s just regurgitating information he’s already given us, just worded differently. He’s listless, too.”

“The mind atrophies in isolation,” Ulysses, someone who would not and could not be contained by a singular specification, pipes up; “The longer he’s down there, being talked _at_ , the more listless and despondent he’s gonna become.”

“And why should we care about the state of his mind?” The white mage snaps. It was well known she had little tolerance for Ascians, Elidibus being chiefly among them. She barely tolerates his presence for you, and for your paper-thin reasoning for bringing him back.

You fear the day she finally has the time to corner you and poke holes in your theory; in your flimsy, narrow-minded reason. 

“Because he’ll become less and less coherent, and you’ll get more and more nonsensical answers,” Ulysses retorts as if this fact were common knowledge.

“Do you have any suggestions on how to fix it?” Lena interrupts, before the exchange can become a fight.

“He needs something to do,” Ulysses steps in to explain once again; “Doesn’t have to be anything major, but he needs something to entertain his brain. Keep the synapses firing, you know?”

You have no idea what a synapse is, but you know what he means when he says Elidibus needs something to keep his mind entertained. Something to keep him from going mad down in that basement all by himself. 

Without thinking, you open your mouth; “He likes chess,” You say, “He used to play it with me.”

Everyone stares at you.

“Chess,” The white mage echoes; “You want to play chess with him?”

It’s Lena who speaks up next; “I don’t see the harm in that—”

“You don’t see the _harm_ in that?” The mage whirls on Lena; “In _her, specifically_ , going to talk to _him?_ ”

You bite the inside of your cheek. You’ve turned all your friends against you. You knew it, but having it confirmed before your very eyes and ears is enough to pin your ears flat against your skull. Weakness.

You were always the weakest link in your Free Company.

“Enough. I know it seems foolish, but he trusts Tyler the most, wouldn’t you all agree?” Lena posits. There are a few begrudging nods of agreement; “Then perhaps we can do a trial run, hm? Once, and we’ll see how it goes, okay?”

With this, she looks at you. You’ve been given the floor, it’s your turn to respond.

You nod. Look down, look back up, back to Lena; “Yes— I mean, of course. Whenever you’re ready, I can go down there and report back to you when it’s over.”

Lena breaks from the group without a word, walks over to one of the bookcases lining the walls of the solar. After a moment or two’s worth of rummaging, she produces a thin cardboard box; which she brings over to you.

“Here you are,” She hands the box to you, a mother passing along a task to an annoying child; “Knock if we’re still in here when you’re done, alright?”

You take the proffered box. Though it had no official label to mark it, there were some faint scribbles on one side that said ‘chess set’. You don’t recognize the handwriting. It doesn’t belong to anyone here.

“I will,” You mutter. 

You leave, feeling like a nuisance, and head towards the basement.

***

You’ve descended into counting the stitches on your blanket again. At least it was something to do, rather than sitting around, staring into the void. You find yourself wondering how you managed to stay on the moon for those long swaths of time, doing nothing but sitting with your thoughts.

The door opens and you forget how high you’ve counted. _She_ is standing in the doorway.

She says nothing, instead closing the door behind her. There’s something in her hands, if only she would draw closer…

She descends the steps, and you see now, a brown box in her hands. She comes to a stop feet from you, at the foot of the stairs. 

“Elidibus,” She says. It’s all she says. A beat of silence passes between the two of you.

Finally, you speak up; “Yes?”

“I, uh,” Tyler lets out a sigh; “This is gonna sound stupid. I- I want to play chess with you. Again.”

After a moment you shake your head. Is she joking? Was this a trick on the part of your captors? Perhaps to see how you’d react to such a proposition. 

“Very well,” You respond with a nod. 

You weren’t above the idle stimulation the game brings, and it had been quite some time since the both of you had played against one another. 

“One game,” She cautions, “Just for today.” Then, a smile. 

Just like old times.


End file.
